Eden
by Araceil
Summary: Slash. Dumbledore could go hang. Even if all the magical world were to hate and revile him, he would go back and help Voldemort destroy Muggle-kind, before they destroyed the world, again. VERY DARK.
1. Prologue

_This fic will be __very__ dark. I warn you now, there will be mass genocide, torture, some graphic sexual situations (there will be warnings – though I am loath to put them in as it ruins the flow of writing), concepts borrowed from other areas such as comics, manga and games like spells, combat scenes and techniques, tools and the like. I will endeavour to give each chapter the correct declarations at the bottom of the page._

**Pairing: **Voldemort/Harry

**Summary: **He didn't know why or what he was doing, but he was trying to save her, he was just doing it the wrong way. Hary Potter survived the end of the world and went back to show him the way. Dumbledore could go hang. Even if all the magical world were to hate and revile him, he would help Voldemort destroy Muggle-kind, before they destroyed Mother Gaia, again.

* * *

**Eden**

PROLOGUE

* * *

The dark citadel loomed up in the darkness, startlingly _there_ where as a moment before it had not been through the sheets of hammering grey rain and growling dark clouds. A vicious and bitter wind lashed against the proud stone as if to wear it away through sheer savage rage, yet the stone gave no quarter and remained defiantly jutting up into the sky, its multi-pannelled windows foggy and glowing with torch and candle light within. Promising warmth and shelter to those splashing their way through the treacherous forest and half hidden paths, perhaps a glass of wine and a hot meal should the evening's news prove good. To those naïve enough not to know who resided within.

Lucius Malfoy glanced over his shoulder to make sure his silent companion was still following him, the figure in the heavy dark green cloak was following silently, his feet barely making either sound or imprint on the rain soaked mud. Perhaps a little hysterically, the twenty-three year old wondered if he was using a spell to stop his feet from getting dirty and resolved to look for it if he survived the night.

Two weeks ago, his Manor Wards chimed in the middle of meeting with his now Fiancée's father, one of many that he had attended in order to convince the man of his desire, intentions and eligibility to marry his youngest daughter Narcissa Black. Alarmed that someone had managed to penetrate his Father's Warding, never mind the fact that the Warning had contacted Lucius instead of his father which could only mean one thing, he had hurried home, wand at the ready. There, in the parlour, stranger had been sat quite calmly, his wand on the lacquered teak coffee table two feet away from him, writing a letter on his finest parchment with an albino peacock feather quill, a parchment which he then promptly handed over to Lucius when the blond demanded to know why he was in his home and how in Merlin's name he got there. The stranger never spoke, not told his name or where he came from, he just insisted, again and again, that he needed to speak with the Dark Lord. Fed up to the back teeth of the man, and his surprisingly alive father's snide commentary regarding his presence, Lucius had written to his Master to inform him of the stranger's vehement desire to meet.

The stranger produced an odd silver locket encrusted with emeralds that positively _reeked_ of dark magic and added it to the youngest Malfoy's missive before vanishing again. The blond had somewhat hysterically wondered if the stranger was attempting to seduce the Dark Lord before brushing the idea off as purely ridiculous.

Barely a day later a response was dropped into Lucius's morning tea, the Dark Lord wished to meet the Stranger and any actions he took would be on _his_, Lucius's, head.

"Hurry up! The Dark Lord does not like to be kept waiting," the blond hissed as he stalked towards the citadel, receiving the distinct impression that he was being given a Look of some kind from under the cowl of that cloak, the cloak he had not yet seen the stranger remove. He unsettled the Malfoy Heir, unsettled him so very badly, more than his Master ever had. There was just a... a _taste_ to the man's presence that made his insides twist with discomfort, his posture and mannerisms only compounded that unease, he never spoke, he was silent, kept his face and hands covered, Lucius had never seen him eat or drink, he came and went like a shadow in and out of the Mansion and never once triggered a Ward or a Trap or an Enchantment save for that first one which the Pureblood now knew to have been invoked on _purpose_ to catch his attention. His attention. Not his father's, not the man who had been in the study on the second floor writing yet another missive to his Mistress in Bulgaria who had not even _noticed_ anything amiss until he encountered his son drinking rather freely from his finest collection of Scotch Whiskey.

Flicking his Wand, Lucius accessed the Wards and announced his presence, allowing it to taste his Dark Mark before the heavy oak doors with their wrought iron bars swung open, granting himself and the stranger entrance into the Porch. Sighing gratefully to be out of the despicable weather, Lucius lowered his sodden hood and shook his long hair out, flicking his wand out to cast a variety of cleaning and drying Charms upon his person and glancing over his shoulder to the silent Stranger, twitching slightly at his clean and dry appearance despite the fact he had not moved nor spoken since they entered the Citadel. This man was bad for his health.

The Porch was a small space with a high ceiling, a flight of stone stairs leading up to the first floor were the prominent feature, the walls had brackets and hooks for hanging up cloaks and torches lined the walls providing light. It was cold and impersonal and Lucius felt his anxiety rise exponentially as he hung his cloak up on the hooks provided and started to climb the staircase to where the Dark Lord would be waiting. The soft scuffing sound behind him gave reassurance – though he wasn't sure this was the right word – that the stranger was obediently following close behind.

The corridor of the first floor lead along the side of the building, another flight of stairs leading up and two doors on the inside wall, again, torches lined the high walls as the windows provided no light. Knowing full well the Dark Lord would be in the throne room, Lucius ignored the doors, one leading into the kitchen and the other to a third flight of stairs that led down into the bowls of the Citadel into the Dungeons.

The second floor had the dining room and the drawing room and were summarily ignored as Lucius continued on to the third flight of stairs which would take him to the Library, the Library was two floors large so he carried onto the fifth floor which was the Throne room and paused at the top of the stairs.

"The Dark Lord is within this room," he explained to the stranger who came to a stop silently and was now listening expectantly, "I do not like you but any actions you take within that room shall reflect upon me and be my responsibility so I shall warn you of this now: the Dark Lord is not patient and he is not merciful, should you insult him, your life is forfeit where as mine shall be torturous. You will behave in his presence, you will bow upon entering and not speak unless spoken to, you will not argue or backchat, complain or brown nose," the blond listed sharply, "Do not fidget, and above all else, do – not – _lie_. The Dark Lord always knows when he is being lied to."

The stranger nodded solemnly and Lucius could only guess that it would be the best he would get out of him, huffing anxiously, he turned on heel and continued to the Throne room, knocking politely upon the door and waiting to be acknowledged by his Lord.

"Enter Lucius and Guest," a sibilant voice commanded from the otherside of the wood and, swallowing against his dry throat, the blond pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

* * *

Patience had never been one of his virtues and he had very few of them in all honesty that he took a small measure of pride in the ones he _did_ practice. It would surprise his Followers if they knew how familiar he was with the Muggle Religion of Catholicism, the ever devout Mrs Cole, the Matron of his childhood orphanage, had industriously attempted to lead them '_into the light and love of the Lord_', and on occasion, beat the fear of God into them.

Seven holy Virtues to oppose seven deadly Sins.

His only Virtues, Diligence and Chastity, facing against the six of his Sins, Pride, Wrath, Greed, Gluttony, Lust and Envy. A cruel smirk played upon his skin pale lips, how Mrs Cole would weep if she knew, a shame that the foolish bint was long dead and buried. He would have enjoyed witnessing her fear, how she begged him, not her precious God, for mercy and salvation. And how he would mercifully grant her that salvation with a flare of green light and two softly spoken words. Lost in thought, the Dark Lord almost missed the sound of harsh whispering outside his throne room, arching a thin eyebrow, he straightened in his throne, shaking off thoughts and fantasies of things best not aired in front of the minions, tapping his cheek with a long finger as he listened to the young Malfoy Heir's hissed instructions.

Yes, he smirked. Yes, Lord Voldemort _always_ knew when you were lying.

A knock on the door spurred the Dark Lord into making himself a little more comfortable on his throne, arranging himself to look suitably intimidating and powerful, "Enter Lucius and Guest," he commanded once he felt he had achieved a suitable position.

A breath and then the doors opened, Lucius Malfoy stalking in and bowing lowly, his white blond hair gleaming with gold and red highlights in the glow of the torches that lined the cold and impersonal chamber. But it wasn't the Pureblood Aristocrat that had his attention. It was the thin, silent figure in the heavy green cloak stood slightly behind him, straight backed, awaiting acknowledgement. He did not bow and Lord Voldemort felt more than a little twinge of anger at the blatant disrespect he was being given from this stranger who had been so determined to gain audience with him, determined enough to hand him one of his Horcrux, the one he felt had been protected the best out of all. Whoever this stranger was, he, or she, knew of his activities if they were sending him such things along with a request to meet, and knew it would get his attention.

"So this is your mysterious Guest, Lucius. They do not seem like much," he hissed, allowing disappointment to colour his tone and watched in vague amusement as the blond tensed, no doubt expecting the _Crucio_ he feared his Master would bestow upon him for wasting his time in such a fashion.

"My Lord, he is not without skill. He was able to enter into Malfoy Manor without triggering any of the Wards," he explained anxiously and the Slytherin smirked, practically tasting his terror and revelling in it.

"And yet he had neither spoken a word nor removed his cloak. Did you even _try_ to uncover his identity or did you hope he would be able to dispose of me?" the Dark Lord purred maliciously, the blond looked up in horror, his silvery grey eyes wide and sheened with terror, "_Crucio_," he intoned, flicking the Torture Curse at his young follower and enjoying the way he shrieked and writhed across the cold stones of the throne-room floor. He was fully aware that the blond held no such intentions, but he still held the man under it long enough to get his point across, to see that famed Malfoy flawlessness thoroughly shattered and dishevelled before cancelling the curse and flicking his wand at the door, opening it, "Get out of my sight Lucius. Return to the hole you crawled out of," he sneered, watching as the blond bowed low and retreated from the throne room as if the hounds of hell were nipping his heels. He did so enjoy destroying beautiful things, he idly wondered in the back of his mind how long it would take to destroy young Lucius's beauty.

Throughout the whole exchange, the stranger had not flinched, nor had he moved, leaving Lord Voldemort to study him as the doors swung shut with a shuddering bang behind Lucius's retreating back. The chamber was bathed in silence as the two sized each other up, or rather, Lord Voldemort glared at the hooded stranger, trying to get a feel for how much of a threat he may be while the other figure merely waited for him to finish.

"Speak your piece, stranger, before I decide you aren't worth the second hand air you breathe," the Dark Lord sneered.

There was a moment of silence before the stranger reached into his pocket and withdrew a small object, too small to be a wand, and idly threw it at the Dark Lord's feet. The heavily scuffed gold gleaming in the torch light while the cracked face of a black stone bearing a curious triangle with a bisected circle crudely carved upon it mockingly winked up at the Dark Lord. Red eyed observed the stone before lifting coldly to the stranger who held out a rolled parchment, again wordlessly.

He wrestled with himself, contemplating just murdering this man in front of him, he knew too much already and yet he was returning the objects, Horcruxes intact, and was not _yet_ holding them over his head. Yet he had not spoken a word.

Flicking his wand, he summoned the roll of parchment and at the same time conjured ropes to bind the stranger who barely reacted, simply looking down briefly to assess the spell before brushing off any concerns. Grudgingly, the Dark Lord felt some respect for his cool headedness, at the same time as it utterly infuriated him.

Testing the paper for potions or charms or curses, the Dark Lord uncurled it and began reading the plain black ink missive – again, written on young Lucius's best stationary.

_Dark Lord Voldemort,_

_There are a number of things that could have happened if you are reading this right now, one of which being that I have handed this paper over along with two of your Horcrux, or you have attacked me and I have fled and left this behind to warn you that I have two of your Horcrux within my possession and know the locations of all the others and their means of destruction._

He looked furiously at the stranger, his magic lashing out into the visible spectrum as a seething broiling crimson aura, the man merely shrugged a shoulder as if to say '_well it was a possibility_'. Biting his tongue and his homicidal impulses, Voldemort turned his attention back to the missive.

_If the latter is the case, I would like to arrange a meeting with you, alone, in which to discuss the current problems with the world at large and how best to solve them between us. Do not misunderstand me, this is much bigger than Muggle-Borns and Blood-Traitors and much more dangerous that anyone has yet to realise. Please meet me at the _Dungeon_ club in West Kirby, Liverpool, on Thursday eighteenth of October nine O'clock in the evening, the barman Kaleb will have set a room aside for us. Don't worry about dress code, the _Dungeon_ is a Magical Establishment though I would suggest not looking like a Dark Lord unless you want Aurors and the Order of Flaming Turkeys descending upon us._

Turkeys... he would have to remember that one for the next time he encountered Albus, the man's face would be rather humorous upon hearing that rather... apt description of his pathetic little group of freedom fighters, Mudbloods and Blood-Traitors. However, this news of something _much worse_ than them and more dangerous, made him uneasy. He eyed the stranger again who was now attempting to scratch his ear through his cloak using his shoulder, a hairless eyebrow rose at the sight before he shook it off and returned to the letter.

_If it is the former and I am currently stood in front of you, may I have your permission to use my wand in which to communicate? Some pleasantries between myself and a branch of the muggle Government have rendered me mute through the removal of my vocal cords._

Mute? The muggle Government was rendering Wizards _mute?_

He checked the letter and discovered that no more was written, not even a name, and yet this man obviously knew him well enough to not only know where he hid his Horcruxes, how to get through the enchantments, how best to contact him and garner his attention, and that having a wand bared without permission in his presence was just inviting a swift death. He was not sure he liked or appreciated being known so well, it was one of the reasons he never allowed a Death Eater into his personal council, aside from the fact that none of them were even _close_ to his level.

He flicked his wand and banished the ropes, "You may use your wand," he told the ma who nodded briefly, scratching his ear with a dragon-hide glove.

Hm, a Holly wand? A wand well suited to protective magics, overthrowing old authorities, revolution and believed to bring success in business or endeavours, good against evil spirits, angry elementals, deadly poisons and lightning. He wondered what core the stranger had, it would reveal a lot about his character when combined with such a wood.

A simple flick conjured long red ribbons that twisted themselves into words in mid-air, ahh, so that was how he intended to communicate.

"_Thank you_," the writing stated simply, "_What do you want to know?_" it continued.

"What is this threat?" he asked immediately, waving the parchment as an example, the stranger nodded as if he expected the question and conjured more ribbons that twisted into words.

"_The original source of all our problems. Muggles themselves,_" the ribbons explained and Voldemort laughed.

"Ridiculous! They're weak, ineffectu-," Whatever else the Dark Lord was about to say was silenced by the sound of a gunshot from the tip of the stranger's wand, the ribbons writhed within the air and formed new words.

"_One would have thought you had more sense than Dumbledore_," the scathing words wrote, effectively silencing the Dark Lord more out of rage than anything else, "_You are familiar with the Hiroshima Bombing? You went there, observed the damage, felt the magic. Imagine what would happen if the Muggles dropped one of them in every city upon the planet?_" All the blood drained out of his already bone white face, leaving it almost grey and transparent, his heart gave a lurch at the memory of how Hiroshima felt in the wake of the muggle bombing. "_You remember_." It didn't bare thinking about to imagine what would happen if the bombs hit the rest of the world. "_Just as I remember._"

"What do you want?" the Dark Lord hissed.

"_I want your help in killing every last Muggle on the face of this planet_," the ribbons told him, "_Before they __destroy__ this planet._"

"How can you be so sure? Explain yourself."

The figure shook his head and stepped forward, "_It would be easier to just __show__ you_," the ribbons twisted as he pulled a glove off and reached out, touching the Dark Lord's hand before he could pull it away.

His mind imploded.

* * *

_Hogwarts in ruins, burning, bodies strewn across the blackened lawns. Children with their chests blown out, lungs dribbling from their mouths. Hagrid sprawled across the grass in several pieces, entrails stretched out in macabre wings. _**/**_ Diagon Alley ablaze, genderless people in thick rubber suits with guns storming through the curtains of thick black smoke, the rattatattata of firing mechanisms tearing through the air, men, women and children screaming as their flesh bubbled and burned and charred, bullets preventing them from escaping. Gringotts - _**/ **_A windowless metal room, cold stainless steel tables, a pure white horse laid out like a morbid butterfly, silver blood collected in vats as white hands picked through pale entrails, heedless to the still living Unicorn's twitching._**/ **_...black clouds, an orange sky, grey ash drifting down like air as the sky burned... _**/ **_Silver descending down - "...can't use that Freaky Nonsense anymore..." - pain and a spurt of crimson, terror, magic, gurgling and then silence as he desperately clasped a hand to his gushing throat, trying to stop the blood. _**/** _Gaia screaming._

* * *

**Hehehe, what do you guys think?**

**This is my first time writing a... well, a Harry-Joins-Voldemort story. I will most likely continue this, its been fun writing it so far. Those of you on my facebook who contributed to my rabid plotbunny, thank you. I've posted the results of our little brainstorming session. (Bet none of you saw Harry being mute did you? I think it adds an interesting dynamic to the story.)**

Now for the rest of you, have you any ideas for the fic?

**How should I handle the Death Eaters, the Ministry, the Order of the Phoenix? What about Pettigrew and Snape? Trelawny? The muggles? How do we deal with the muggleborns? What kind of weapons will they be using? How to Voldemort and Harry work together? Heck, how should their relationship come about? Is Lucius going to break any time soon and rip out that pretty hair of his? What about Harry's parents? Dumbledore? Fawkes? What about the Basilisk and the Dementors? **

**Thoughts, feelings, opinions, scene ideas, plunnies, GIMME – GIMME – GIMME!**

Araceil


	2. Chapter 1

_This fic will be __very__ dark. I warn you now, there will be mass genocide, torture, some graphic sexual situations (there will be warnings – though I am loath to put them in as it ruins the flow of writing), concepts borrowed from other areas such as comics, manga and games like spells, combat scenes and techniques, tools and the like. I will endeavour to give each chapter the correct declarations at the bottom of the page._

**Pairing: **Voldemort/Harry

**Summary: **He didn't know why or what he was doing, but he was trying to save her, he was just doing it the wrong way. Harry Potter survived the end of the world and went back to show him the way. Dumbledore could go hang. Even if all the magical world were to hate and revile him, he would help Voldemort destroy Muggle-kind, before they destroyed Mother Gaia, again.

* * *

**QUICK NOTE: I'm not racist, not in the least, and I really don't mean to stereotype any one place or people, but it may come across that way in this chapter. I apologise now if it offends anyone (**I would also like to point out that this story will probably be offensive right across the board so... if you have rather delicate sensibilities... you might want to hit the back button though I would be rather upset to lose you.**) and hope you enjoy the Chapter regardless.**

* * *

**Eden**

CHAPTER ONE

* * *

Consciousness was not kind upon his awakening. It felt like his brain had just been juiced like so many lemons and limes in summer, he felt hot and cold and wrung out and just generally like he had been using too much magic and then come down with a bad case of the muggle Flu. Vile disease, killed one of the few children he could tolerate back in the orphanage he recalled.

He was lying on something soft, but not a bed, the texture and feel was all wrong, never mind that it was as cold as muggles believed a witch's nipple to be. He tensed minutely as he felt a warm hand touch his forehead, an immediate tingle of magic bled through his skin and head, clearing the stuffiness and soothing the chills and fever, gently flowing through the rest of his body and generally making him feel more at ease, clearer headed and lucid than he had felt for... since... since Hogwarts actually.

Magic. Complimentary Magic.

Red eyes cracked open as the hand withdrew, taking with it the soothing magic that had smoothed down all his ruffled edges, red clashed with green as he finally got a glimpse of the face hidden beneath the hood. Sharp features, almost predatory, exotic, a jagged red and angry looking scar going through his left eye and down his cheek like a lightning bolt, it was ugly but for some reason it only added to his presence, the piercing, knife sharp green eyes the colour of his favourite curse glowed with restrained power and peeking out just below his chin was a mottled, shredded and ugly scar around his throat that looked as though someone had taken a hack saw to the man's throat.

"_Do not try to stand just yet. Your magic had a bad reaction to the memory transfer, your inner ear was ruptured during the seizures and your balance is shot to all hell. I healed it, but it will take time for your body to adjust and the headache to dissipate_," the ribbons explained, he ignored them – idly finding vague amusement in his grammatically correct ribbons – and forced himself up to his feet, regretting it almost immediately but refusing to show weakness as he gingerly sat himself down in his throne. Apparently he had been lying on a cushioned part of the floor, which explained why it felt cold and gritty under his fingertips despite its softness.

Green eyes sighed and got to his feet, the ribbons twisting in the air, "_Very well, I will leave you to digest the memories. Use this to contact me, you should know how_," the ribbons told him as Green eyes flicked a golden coin at his feet, a Galleon, before turning to leave.

"Wait," the Dark Lord ordered, having to clear his throat to grind the words out without sounding weak or in extreme pain like he really was, "What is your name?" he demanded, he couldn't just call him Green eyes, even if it was accurate.

"_Call me what you wish._"

* * *

Voldemort remained in his throne room until the beginning streaks of pink and orange coloured the sky, dawn breaking after the vicious storm that battered and soaked the forest below. The headache had dissipated as he meditated on the memories Green eyes had so carelessly pushed into his brain, the man was a butcher when it came to the mind arts, no skill or finesse at all, it was only their Complimentary Magic that prevented his mind from being liquidated from the '_attack_'.

He bit at a thumb nail, staring through the opened doors of his throne room and to the pastel coloured sky splashed across the horizon behind the windows, he had positioned the doors just so because he had that bad habit of remaining until the wee hours or the late hours and enjoyed watching the beginning and end of the day, their vivid colours painting themselves across the sky. Watching the lightning and storms that lashed the sky with brutal _powerful_ savagery. But now, he could not find it within himself to enjoy the view, too consumed with the information he had finally ordered within his mind and the circumstances surrounding Green eyes.

Complimentary Magic... Wizards and Witches spent their whole lives studying, meditating, practising, some of them even marrying in the old Druidic ways of Magic Binding, others using Legilimency during intercourse, just to _attempt_ at succeeding what seemed to be a product of purely random chance. He quite forcibly did not think on how Complimentary Magic was considered to be the Magical World's equivalent of the muggle Myth of '_Soul Mates_'. Foolishness. If any being or creature was his '_Soul Mate_' it would have been Nagini, Nagini who held a shard of his fractured soul and had not rejected it, had not died during the implantation, had not been driven mad and even shared dreams and experiences with him.

But the other information.

The muggle **Purge** of all things magical... the added information, the garbled impressions of a planetary consciousness long driven to madness that somehow, _somehow_, Green eyes managed to make sense of. Which was another kettle of fish entirely, one that made his stomach curl and his finger nails _hurt_ to think on, said nails were beginning to look rather abused as he worried at them in his mouth, thinking hard.

Muggles were a Cancer. A Virus, something that didn't belong on this planet. They were slowly consuming and destroying it, they were the very antithesis of magic and wizardkind, this was only demonstrated by the fact that magic shorted out anything Muggle-made, even if it were not electronically based – how else would Wards prevent the use of muggle guns which didn't use anything beyond pressure sensitive mechanisms, the same holding true for Classic Cars like diesels. Muggle wrist watches, the spring loaded ones that needed to be wound up every three days to work also were rendered useless within a magic field. Anything that was muggle made could not handle magic.

However... Magic was dying. Not at the rate it was when Green eyes was aware of the problem, the degradation of Magic during the Purge had been so sharp and sudden and _painful_ that technology began to have the opposite affect, technology began to destroy magic. Goblins wards fell to Shock Troops with GPS, radios, guns, Fidelus was useless, degraded to nothing within a week, Hogwarts burned, the Ministry burned, Diagon Alley was a bloodbath. Nothing and no one had escaped. Voldemort witnessed the end of the Magical world and everything to do with it in the space of just under five years, he witnessed the death of a planet and the destruction of a civilisation at the hands of frightened, ignorant, angry and... _evil_ muggles. Green eyes had left nothing out regarding the Purges and the tactics that the muggles used, information gathered regarding the Governments and their movements, military, codes for bases and weapons, the affects Magic had on nuclear weapons and things like EMPs – and until the memory transfer, Voldemort didn't have the slightest idea what an EMP was or anything about radiation poisoning or the negative impacts that nuclear bombs would have on people as well as Magic and the environment.

Green eyes had tried very hard to prevent any memories that had no bearing on the Purges to slip through but his control was poor, bits and bobs, unrelated, personal, drifted like exotic feathers in the wind through his mind. He learned a lot from them, he had a Metamorphmagus for a Godson, he enjoyed flying, he had been shot while trying to help people flee from London and had his throat cut using a switchblade that had seen better days, he was heralded as a Saviour so much by the magical world that it gave him a chronic fear of large crowds and people who may recognise his face (he rather amusedly wondered if that was the reason for the hood), he liked treacle tart and was raised by abusive muggles. Much like he had. He had been an Auror after graduating (Gryffindor according to the robes), the most celebrated and skilled Auror the department had ever seen, his partner had been a Weasley of unparalleled tactical skill, a Weasley who married a Mudblood, a Mudblood that was more skilled, more intelligent, more driven, more... more everything than any Pureblood he had ever encountered, and the madness of a Planet told him she had been chosen, given Magic because she was more than any had ever been. The Planet had hoped she would realise and stop the degradation of Magic, but Dumbledore got to her first, it was only in the months before her death that her views reversed, that she finally realised the truth, that she told the other Magic Folk what was happening. She was the only reason Green eyes was here, she developed the spell to send him back, the ritual, she collected the Time Turners that had escaped the Ministry ransacking, she had been the one to gather everything that was needed and write it all down.

Muggle-borns were given magic for a reason by the Planet. He understood that now. They were chosen, special, the only ones amidst the beasts with promise. He took a deep breath and scrubbed out all plans for the deaths of Mudbloods and Blood-Traitors.

As Green eyes had told him, Muggles were the threat, any being with Magic was more precious than all the Gold in Gringotts, their origins didn't matter. Only magic did.

Slowly, as the light grew stronger, the charmed torches snuffed out, plunging the throne room into grey darkness and the Dark Lord slowly got to his feet, grateful that the pain was now gone and he had his balance back once again. It was only after he stepped forward and heard the scrape of metal on stone than he remembered the galleon, the fake galleon, that Green eyes threw him, one of the coins the Mudblood had enchanted with a Protean Charm, just like one of his Dark Marks but much more... humane. And Slytherin he was somewhat loathed to admit – the girl was a Gryffindor after all. A coin was much less conspicuous than a dirty great black tattoo on your forearm.

He sighed and picked it up, noting the numbers along the side were blank, set to 01010001 00.00, and made his way out of the throne room and up the stairs, softly hissing the password to make them move like the revolving stairs up to Dumbledore's office. He was too tired to make the effort to walk up another three flights of stairs just to reach his personal chambers.

He would contact Green eyes upon his awakening and iron out the details once he had gotten some goddamn sleep, a hot bath and a good meal down his throat. If he didn't, he would probably _Crucio_ the nasty secretive little Gryffindor for having daring to have magic that was Complimentary to his own – not that the idiot even knew it or the ramifications behind it.

Sleep first, _Crucio_ and toast later.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Voldemort, Harry James Potter had not, as the Dark Lord assumed, gone to where ever it was he was lurking like a Boggart to rest, but immediately to America – specifically South America – with a trunk lined in Cedar wood, well known for his soporific qualities on Magical creatures.

He was going Lethifold hunting.

So very, very few people knew him and how vindictive and ruthless he could be, he was determined to destroy the muggles, but it would take time, resources, careful planning. And let's face it, he needed the help of the man who nearly managed to wipe all of Wizarding England off the map with his twisted interpretations of the Planet's will.

Harry sighed silently as he stalked through the Mexico slums in search of the elusive black shrouds (he was well aware that Mexico wasn't part of the United States and he would probably get lynched for saying it out loud but it was just... _easier_ to decide that everything in this side of the world was America as a collective) – they were quite prominent in slums like this, warm climate, helpless muggles, death and violence every day, no one would notice if a body or thirty vanished from their beds in the middle of the night without sight or sound. It would just be blamed on Human Trafficking and Gun Violence and no one would be the wiser that a living shroud of death had kept under the doorway and indulged in a little dark meat or possibly a corpse from an alleyway. Harry had every intention of using every weapon he could to get the job done, he didn't care if it would be considered unsporting, dishonourable, _evil_, he would gladly be hated and reviled, he would welcome being written down in history as the muggle equivalent of Satan or Hitler or Bin Laden, as long as there was a Magical World in which to do so.

But that could wait.

Right now he was gathering resources.

Lethifolds were known as silent killers, a living shroud that smothered their prey while they slept and then consumed and digested them then and there within the bed, leaving not a single trace. They would be ideal for removing key political figures, leaving no trace of magic, and hospitals and orphanages. Harry didn't like seeing the bodies of children, his mind always flashed back to the broken corpses of Teddy, Rosie, Hugo and Victoire strung up like macabre decorations from lampposts in the middle of Trafalgar Square. Set the Lethifolds loose, let them deal with the bodies and then just send the more cold hearted Death Eaters in the take care of any survivors while he rounded up the very well fed little cloaks. At least, that was his plan. No doubt Voldemort would call him weak or soft hearted over his refusal to deal with the corpses of children but well, when was it ever a new thing? Getting insulted by the Dark Lord, been there, done that, got the scars, socks, shirt and sweater to prove it.

Hmmm, Dark Lord... scars... resources – _Basilisk._

How could he forget the sixty foot snake sealed within the basement of Hogwarts? That little gem would definitely be useful. It was such a shame that Television wasn't such a widely consumed medium like it was back in his time, he would have loved to use the serpent's eyes to petrify every dumb fuck who ever watched X-Factor or Britain's Got Talent. Well, perhaps some other way.

Speaking of Petrification and Basilisks, he should really think about getting his hands on more than several dozen Mandrakes, the screams from an adult Mandrake were deadly to anyone within hearing-range. He was thinking the magical equivalent of a grenade that couldn't be blocked, how very appropriate, and ironic considering how often Magical homes were destroyed and set ablaze by Grenades and improvised pipe-bombs and molotovs.

His smirk became very unpleasant and more than a little menacing at the thought of taking forty of the ugly, wonderful, little buggers, charming them with a Soronus and then portkeying them into different places throughout the muggle subway stations during rush hour commute, the echoing screams would be heard even above ground through the drain pipes, up and into streets, businesses, houses, heck, an entire city could be wiped out with that alone. Try and silence _THAT_ one you self righteous knife-wielding bastards!

Calm down Harry. Catch your glorious little fabric-y gluttons first, seethe over injustice and revenge later, preferably over a cup of tea after disposing of his... _beloved_ Uncle's body. Shouldn't be too difficult, he would just toss him in the trunk full of Lethifolds along with his horse of a wife.

He found it more ironic that he appreciated them dead more than alive, after all, they were far more useful as food than as human beings.

* * *

Many would consider it strange that the, _the_, Dark Lord Voldemort cooked his own breakfast.

He hated, loathed and abhorred having others take care of his needs for him, he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself and handling his affairs without the help of a neurotic masochistic crime against nature poking its misshapen nose into his business. He had no particular hatred to House Elves, no love of them either, they just existed and he wanted nothing to do with the eager to please beings. Of course his feelings had been _somehow_ picked up on by his Death Eaters who then reacted in compliance with their believed perception of his unvoiced opinion.

_House Elves are vermin_.

Lucius was the worst, idly he wondered if he should _Crucio_ the little pest again when he saw him before furiously shaking his head, almost splattering himself with hot oil from the frying pan. He could not afford to harm a Magical individual again, it was... well, he didn't doubt Green eyes would_ try _to dispose of him if he proved a threat to the Magical World by harming someone not only of sound mind but strong magic.

He huffed, dishing out the bacon and sausages he had been cooking before throwing in a triangle of toast to fry in the oil and fats from the meat, he really needed to come up with a better name for the Stranger than '_Green eyes_'. It would have been so much easier if even _one_ of the unintended memory shards had him being referred to by name but no, not a single one did. His muggle relatives called him Boy or Freak, one of his friends called him Sky but it was quite clearly a nickname... yet still... it didn't suit him in the least and the Dark Lord brushed any thought of him using the word as a name for the annoying Gryffindor as he dished up his perfectly fried toast and turned the stove off with a tap of his wand before sitting down at the small kitchen table, a mug of warm tea and a glass of orange juice already waiting for him along with a soft-boiled egg and a plate of buttered bread slices for dipping in the runny yoke.

Already his Owl, Zeus, had delivered the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler for his perusal. Xenophilius may print the majority of his conspiracy theories but the Dark Lord was not blind, there was a reason why UNSPEAKABLES always bought the Quibbler hot off the press. Anyone with half a brain could crack the code the Quibbler used as it spread top secret information that the Minister of Magic did not know or want public – such as a sudden magical disturbance at Stonehenge that completely levelled the surrounding area and killed twenty sight-seeing muggles. It was a nightmare for the Obliviators to deal with, not to mention the Accident Response Repair Team to go and put the ancient historical site back to its former state. Silly muggles actually believed it was important when it was just a Druidic version of Modern Art.

Hmm, the Daily Prophet was blaming him for it, he should be more insulted that they considered him petty enough to destroy a piece of their cultural heritage in such a fashion – did they conveniently forget that he was trying, _had_ been trying, to kill all the muggle-borns to _protect_ their cultural heritage all of a sudden? A side comment from Dumbledore calling for people to stand up to the Death Eater menace, extend the hand of friendship to their muggle cousins, yadda, yadda, yadda. Ignorant fool, anger curled across his skin and the Prophet promptly burst into flames between his fingers making him curse violently and glare at the drifting ash now all over his breakfast. Clearly his emotional and magical control had suffered from the influx of memories Green eyes gave to him.

Vanishing his ruined breakfast along with all the ashes, Voldemort leaned back in his seat and withdrew the three objects in his pockets, setting them out upon the table in front of him. The fake Galleon with its still blank dates, Slytherin's Locket and the Gaunt Ring. All of these things added up to one in his mind, Green eyes was intimately familiar with him, knew him better than anyone in his life ever had. The man _went back in time_ and then asked _him_ for help... had they been... He scowled at the thought of being with _anyone_ in such a fashion, they were all inferior, none could measure up to Voldemort and he would never deign _lower_ himself for someone, Complimentary Magic or none. Actually... that was a thought, _where was he during these Purges?_

Where was the Dark Lord Voldemort when the muggles destroyed the world?

He scowled down at the galleon, resisting the urge to summon the Gryffindor here immediately and question him until his brain oozed from his ear-holes, there were a few more things he needed to consider before he went charging into the situation like an uppity fifteen year old.

Such as what he was about to undertake, the destruction of all muggles, it bared a great deal of thinking about, just how were they going to kill them _all_? How were they going to differentiate the muggle-born from the actual muggles? How were they going to find them and kill what equated to roughly fifteen billion people?

Picking up the galleon he jabbed it with his wand, sending the message that he wanted to meet with Green eyes immediately.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was about to have a kitten with a velvet tail, ribbon and bells and all.

It had been a week since he brought the stranger to the Dark Lord, neither had been heard from since, both Lucius and his father Abraxus had been on pins and needles ever since. What if the stranger had attacked the Dark Lord? Would the Malfoy family be next to feel his wrath? Had the stranger actually won and was now systematically going through Death Eaters and wiping them out. The mixture of relief and sheer anxious terror that ripped through his body when he felt the Dark Mark burn with its usual intensity on his arm nearly had him relieving himself in the middle of the lining room.

Making his way to the Throne room the relief he felt at seeing the other Death Eaters evaporated when he realised why they were milling around in the corridors – the throne room doors were shut. Usually their Lord liked to have them open, so that he could _Crucio_ any stragglers he felt had not arrived with the right degree of promptness or respect.

So here he stood, outside the Throne room, listening to the worried chatter of his fellow Death Eaters, sweating anxiously beneath his mask until the doors were finally opened allowing them to enter.

The blond almost froze and stumbled over himself when he saw what was in front of him, the Dark Lord, artfully arranged upon his throne as always, his garnet eyes sharp and cold as he observed them, his pallour seemed healthier now, his magic was calm, not crackling through the air like displaced lightning. Black robes with delicate dark green trimmings pooled around him and created a rather stark contrast to the figure stood at his left in a long cloak of silvery dove grey – the Stranger, dressed differently now, leaning deceptively at ease against the arm of the Dark Lord's throne, as if he belonged there. The shadows of the cowl still hiding his face away as he watched the bewildered Death Eaters take their customary places throughout the throne room and bow lowly to their Lord. Lucius doing so even as he stared, unable to pull his eyes away from the Stranger who had invaded his home barely a week ago, without the thick dark green cloak, he seemed smaller and thinner than Lucius's memory was telling him. He wore black trousers tucked into sturdy dragon-hide boots, a black shirt with arm braces and the dove grey cloak hiding all else, but it was impossible to miss the wand attached to his forearm and the knives and single short sword attached at his hips. He looked like an Adventurer from before the time of the muggle Industrial Revolution, journeying from each corner of the world to another, filling in the blank spaces upon the map.

And he looked like he belonged, right there, on their Lord's side.

Silently, they waited until the Throne doors closed rightly, a shuddering bang, behind the last of their number. For a moment, not a single sound filled the room as cold, calculating garnet eyes swept over them, assessing them carefully even as hairless eyebrows lowered unhappily into a frown.

"Rise," the Dark Lord commanded, watching as his people scrambled to their feet, "Many of you are wondering why I have called you here, some, may already have an idea but allow me to assure you, that you are _wrong_," the Dark Lord promised, his hissing voice sending a ripple throughout the room as men and women collectively shuddered at the promise of pain within his displeased tones. "You, what do you think when I say '_muggle_'?" the Dark Lord asked, pointing at a tall hooded figure in the front row.

"Cattle, my Lord," the male voice admitted.

"And you?" the Dark Lord continued, pointing to a well endowed woman on Lucius's otherside, he _believed_ that this was Bellatrix, his fiancée Narcissa's oldest sister.

"Vermin to be wiped out, my Lord," she simpered, sounding so utterly besotted that his skin was beginning to crawl just being within five feet of the woman.

On and on, the Dark Lord pointed at various people within the chamber and demanded their opinion on the muggles, his expression never giving away his thoughts but none the less making them all more and more uncomfortable and confused as he continued looking for something that none of them were giving him. Finally, he flicked an impatient hand and sighed, studying them with flat garnet eyes that seemed... Lucius would have said disappointed had it been anyone but the Dark Lord but this was leaning more towards irritation.

"You are right and you are also _wrong_," he announced powerfully, silencing the muted whispers of confusion within the Chamber, the man gestured to the Stranger at his side, "This is... Dusk," yes Voldemort decided, it was an appropriate name for a man who came and went like a shadow, "he has travelled a great deal to bring us vital information regarding the survival of our kind, _all magical kind_."

The bottom of Lucius's stomach fell out, his veins turning to ice as he tried to understand what their Lord meant.

The grey cloaked stranger, Dusk, stepped forward, flicking his wand out, thin ribbons of white and silver streaming out into the air to form words – much to the shock and confusion of all present.

"_Many of you would consider this information false, here-say, the paranoid ramblings of a Mudblood or a Blood-Traitor. After all, you are Pureblood, you have Magic, nothing can stand against your superiority. It is not and such thinking could not be further than the truth. Burn this into your minds, ladies and gentlemen, I will not show you again. This is the price to pay for underestimating the muggles._" the ribbons told them before the stranger reached up and pulled the collar of his shirt down to reveal the butchery done to his throat.

The room erupted into clamour, horror, disbelief, shock prevalent the strongest amidst all of them. Lucius could only stare wordlessly at it, his vocal cords had been cut, slaughtered, such an injury was far beyond Mediwizardry. And he couldn't help but feel his blood turn to ice. True, silent casting was a talent taught to Sixth Years and up, but so very, very, _very_ few ever became skilled at it, could never use even half of their spells silently, they needed the verbal focus for anything powerful or complicated. This man, Dusk, had been attacked by muggles who knew that by shredding his vocal cords, they were preventing him from using magic.

"Be silent!" the Dark Lord snarled, stilling and quieting the room immediately.

Dusk pulled the collar of his shirt back up with an ever so slightly trembling hand before the ribbons in the air shifted again, "_I do not joke around, and this information brought many of my closest friends and family to death. I tell this to the Dark Lord, to you, because Dumbledore will be ineffectual, he would only cause the Death of Magic in all of its forms. _

_Magic comes from the Planet, she gives it to us, she can take it away from us. Muggles... are not born of this Earth. They do not belong here. They are a Virus, a Cancer, that is slowly consuming and destroying it. And, in due time, it will destroy all magic and life upon it as well. Twenty, perhaps thirty years from now, there will be no more Hogwarts, no more Durmstrang, no Diagon Alley, no Ministry of Magic, no Goblins, Centaurs, Veela, Unicorns, Bowtruckles or Boomslang. When the muggles discover magic, they will crush it_."

"How can you be so sure?" a voice in the crowd asked before they could censor themselves, the figure immediately recoiled as if expecting a _Crucio_ but the Dark Lord merely watched them, not reacting in the slightest to the call.

Dusk paused for a moment, as if pondering how to answer, before flicking his wand at the ribbons.

"_Because I have lived through it already._"

* * *

**How is everyone liking it so far?**

**X3 not a whole lot happening in this Chapter so far but give it time everyone. This is about saving the world here, its going to take planning, forethought, a fuck ton of sheer ruthlessness and balls the size of Dragon Eggs.**

**I agonised for ages over Harry's new name, at first I thought Green eyes, then I thought Sky (Since that's his Marauder name) but then I thought of other things before turning to my Housemate and giving three options, she chose Dusk and I'll admit. It fits.**


	3. Chapter 2

_This fic will be __very__ dark. I warn you now, there will be mass genocide, torture, some graphic sexual situations (there will be warnings – though I am loath to put them in as it ruins the flow of writing), concepts borrowed from other areas such as comics, manga and games like spells, combat scenes and techniques, tools and the like. I will endeavour to give each chapter the correct declarations at the bottom of the page._

**Pairing:** Voldemort/Harry

**Summary:** He didn't know why or what he was doing, but he was trying to save her, he was just doing it the wrong way. Harry Potter survived the end of the world and went back to show him the way. Dumbledore could go hang. Even if all the magical world were to hate and revile him, he would help Voldemort destroy Muggle-kind, before they destroyed Mother Gaia, again.

* * *

**Eden**

CHAPTER TWO

**EDIT: Reposted with paragraph error corrected. XD Sorry guys, that was my fault not FFnet.**

* * *

Voldemort smirked, watching as Dusk worked his Death Eaters over.

It had been a gamble to let the stubborn Gryffindor take the floor for this but he was glad he had listened to that insistent niggle in the back of his mind that told him he should trust the younger man – if only with this. He had not liked the idea of giving up the reigns for this evening, disliked not being in control of anything to do with his Death Eaters but even he understood that a certain... _difference_ in both the situation and himself was required to _truly_ hammer the situation in, to make his Death Eaters sit up and take note and understand that this was not some twisted joke, this was not paranoia or stupidity speaking, this was not insanity brought about from over-indulgence of the Dark Arts. The muggles were a threat greater than anything any of them had ever believed. Dusk's clear cut, harsh shock tactics, his total blunt and unyielding honesty and cold ruthlessness had shaken them to their cores completely, stripped them of every shield of ignorance and superiority they possessed and crushed their Pureblood Ego to nothing beneath the heel of his boot.

It was almost a thing of beauty to watch him then turn around and bring them out of that crushing helplessness, to give them the answer to their problems and motivate them to what was almost positively giddy excitement and determination to do his will. He would have felt threatened, perhaps undermined, at the way Dusk so easily commanded their respect and admiration all within half an hour, but the past week he spent arguing, Duelling, bitching and plotting with the man had left him with an intimate understanding of at least one facet of his personality.

Dusk not only hated attention, but he had absolutely no ambition what so ever as well.

It was almost laughable, the man had no desire for anything beyond what he needed. The destruction of all muggles wasn't an ambition or a dream, it was a mission, a task, an obsession, Voldemort knew and understood that even as the younger man's single minded determination put him on edge. He had liked to think he could be a thing of terror, after all, no one would even dare speak his name these days, but some of the plans that Dusk had brought to the kitchen table during their discussions had made the blood drain from his face. It was imaginative, it was well thought out, it was _terrifying_.

After contacting the green eyed male he had retired to the library to do a little research on time travel, he had glimpsed some of the work that the Mudblood – this Hermione girl – had been doing, it went over his head for the most part but what he _did_ understand was sound in principle. He had very nearly ended up killing the young man when he tapped him on the shoulder suddenly, the Dark Lord had not heard him approach, had not felt the wards alert him and his magic had not reacted to his presence at all, Avada Kedavra had left his wand before he had even acknowledged what his eyes were seeing – and he dodged. At point blank with a wand literally pressed against his chest, he managed to dodge the Death curse. And the Dark Lord became curious.

How good _was_ this young man at fighting? He had information, he had smart friends, he was a gifted Auror, but was he actually any good in a fight? Could he think for himself? Could he measure up to his Weasley friend? Was he just a grunt who greased enough palms with gold and followed orders exceptionally well? The butchered memories said otherwise, but he wanted to get the measure of the man himself, the way a Wizard Duelled said a lot about his character.

He practically dragged the confused mute to the Duelling Chamber on the floor above the Throne room. It was his own personal chambers, anything above the Throne room was off limits to the Minions so it was pretty much pristine and largely unused as the Dark Lord Voldemort needed no practice and no one was capable of standing against him and providing at least some worthy entertainment. Dumbledore being the exception – and he wasn't going to be invited to have a friendly bout within the very headquarters of the Dark Citadel (He really needed to come up with a better name for his place of residence. The '_Dark Citadel_' was just so very cliché and boring. Idly watching the Death Eaters practically panting over the young man, he wondered if he should ask Dusk's opinion on the matter, he did have some amusing epithets for Dumbledore and his little Order, perhaps he could think of something _appropriate and appreciable_ for the tower).

It had been an interesting fight, took almost all of the day before hunger and magical exhaustion drove the two of them to break, the Dark Lord declaring that he won while Dusk only shook his head and ignored him while rifling through the fridge in search of eggs, ham and cheese in order to make omelettes with. Privately, he was impressed, _very _impressed with the other man's ability. He wasn't lacking in power, not in the least, he had an unpleasant habit of overpowering what would be ordinary house hold charms into things that replicated some of the nastiest of the Dark Arts – a paint stripping Charm when sufficiently juiced up would flay a human, or in this case, the large viper he had conjured to try and distract the Gryffindor. He did not cast any of the Dark Arts, there were one or two boarder line curses in there, but none that could classically be considered Dark, one or two that the Ministry _classed_ as Dark but did so for purely political reasons, but for the most part he stuck with a Light orientated repertoire, over powered it and bounced around like a squirrel on far too many Pepper-Up potions after getting struck on the tail with a Stinging Hex. His lack of spell knowledge was worked around using imagination, lots of power and what was unmistakably some form of hand to hand, he used a knife once to pin the edge of his robe to the stone floor before unleashing a lightning spell he had never encountered before.

It was after they had eaten that the discussions began.

Their resources were discussed and the Dark Lord began to get a feel for how Dusk liked to fight, he was thinking wide-spread, untraceable and downright malicious. The removal of Government Officials using Lethifolds, neutralising Militaries with the use of Dementors which couldn't be seen by muggle eyes, using a magical equivalent to an EMP bomb to remove the technology that they relied on so heavily, Mandrakes as bombs throughout cities during the busiest times of day, Inferi combing the countryside to prevent anyone from hiding. Voldemort had hummed, overlooking the suggestions written on the parchment before suggesting a few of his own. Manticores could be convinced to their side, they were intelligent but so highly aggressive that the Ministry didn't want to recognise the fact, releasing one of those into one of the pockets of muggle survivors – because they would band together and become aggressive and suspicious once realising something was wrong. Nundus and Dragons were infeasible, both were completely untrainable and he did not even want to run the risk of having a Nundu turn around and decide it liked the look of them more than the city of muggles they lead it to. Dragons couldn't be trained and while they could be _directed_ it was more trouble than it was worth given that they would be indiscriminate about what they kill or destroy.

There was still the problem of identifying and '_liberating_' the muggle-born.

Dusk had slid over a silver mask when he voiced that issue, gesturing at him to put it on. It was a beautiful mask, silver with ornately delicate swirls and climbing vine patterns that put him in mind of the JRR Tolkein books he read when he was in Hogwarts, the elves of Rivendell. Slipping it on, he frowned when he realised that Dusk was glowing a soft silver colour, looking around he noted that various places around the kitchen were also glowing a much faded crimson colour, when he looke down though, at his own hand, he realised that he was seeing Magic, his magic, the scarlet, orange and crimson seething fire that crackled across and under his skin. He looked up at Dusk, fascinated by the lazy drifting silver magic, like mist or incense smoke.

Hospitals would be struck first. Maternity wards scoped out, muggle-born infants taken then and there, given to Pureblood families to be raised in a safe environment, the muggle children and their parents would be dealt with via Dementor and Lethifold – Dusk's reluctance to allow the Death Eaters to be the ones to end the lives of babies was a wise one in the Dark Lord's opinion, they didn't need one of them to snap and start murdering children left and right. Especially magical ones. They would _Imperio_ a few to make it look like a Terrorist attack, a hostage situation while they went through and killed everyone, destroyed all the equipment and medicine. Do this at every hospital throughout the Country, make the muggles too scared to go to one just in case their hospital is the last one attacked. By that point the Government and the Police and Military would be getting in on things, the Government officials and the Military would then be taken at the same time. Lethifolds and Dementors, it shouldn't take longer than a week to get rid of them before going in with wands blazing to handle everything else. This would be taking place _just_ in England, once they had secured England they would move onto the rest of the world, co-ordinate attacks with supporters in each respective Country, activate the EMP bombs to create a planet wide black out and Dark Age. Only this time, the muggles weren't going to survive it.

The next day and the following meeting afterwards came with a request from the green eyed male as he showed a small scar at the back of his neck. Before they could go on the offence, he needed someone to remove the small electronic device in the back of his neck – somehow it was shielded from magic but reacted badly to certain usages of it. For instance, he was unable to Apparate with it burrowed below his skin and attached to his spinal cord, even Side-Along was a bad idea, the Animagus transformation was out and his rather deformed Metamorphmagus abilities were equally beyond his reach with the device there. But more worryingly was the Tracking option attached to it.

"_They're going to notice when a strange frequency pops up right before some of these attacks happen, they'll follow it and then we'll all be fucked. It needs to be removed but back in my time, anyone who would was long dead._" Frustrated and angry that he hadn't been told of this sooner, Voldemort had banished the younger male from his sight for the day while he contemplated on how to deal with this. Had he been able to speak, the Gryffindor was fairly sure he would have made several muttered comments about Micro-Managing, Megalomaniacs, control freaks and drama queens. It was probably a good thing he was mute at that point in time because the Dark Lord would have _most likely_ flown off the handle and started throwing curses at him ala Hermione on Ron when she was pregnant and stressed and so very, very _pissed off_.

The rest of their time, once the Dark Lord had simmered down enough to turn his attention to other things, was spent talking about recruitment and delegation and how to handle the current Death Eaters and the major changes in their plans.

Which brought them here, today, with Dusk so easily working the crowd of Death Eaters in front of him, the boy was Gryffindor through and through and yet he was just Slytherin enough to make it work without being stupid. Interesting.

"Tomorrow," he interjected during a lull in the meeting while Dusk allowed the men and women in front of him to speak and think on his words, letting them digest his words before continuing, "We shall meet again and discuss our plans fully. Take the day to think fully and bring some worthwhile plans to the table. You are free to leave for the evening. Lucius, stay behind if you would," the Dark Lord added, it may have sounded like a polite request but anyone who knew the Dark Lord knew it was anything but.

The blond bowed, already beginning to sweat and shake anxiously. The Dark Lord sneered a little, he had not realised how frustrating that behaviour was until Dusk showed up and brazenly rolled his eyes, glared, glowered, snorted and groaned – well, huffed really – over his '_dark lordiness_' as he put it. He liked being respected and feared yes, but to the point where everyone around him became utterly useless just because he paid particular attention to them? No, not very. It was highly frustrating in all honesty.

The three waited until everyone had finished filing out of the Throne room before the Dark Lord gestured at the blond to approach, "Lucius, I require you to escort Dusk to St Mungos tomorrow," he explained, gesturing at the grey cloaked male who, hesitating only a little, reached up and lowered his hood, taking Lucius back a bit. He looked startlingly familiar, but he couldn't... couldn't put his finger on how.

"Of course my Lord, may I ask for what reason?" he asked, unable to pull his eyes away from the now visibly uncomfortable man's face.

The Dark Lord nodded and gestured at Dusk who scowled unhappily before turning and pulling his shaggy black hair to the side, revealing a small scar, too delicate to be an accident and too well healed to be the product of an attack or torture session. "The muggles have implanted a small electronic device within Dusk's neck to limit his abilities. Until it is removed he is unable to utilize his Anigamus form or Apparate," he explained, deciding to leave out the Tracking feature for now, they could discuss that at the meeting tomorrow evening when he added some more information regarding the danger that muggles posed to them.

The look on Lucius's face was one of horror, "Oh Merlin," he breathed, no doubt feeling the same way that the Dark Lord had upon discovering that muggles could block their magic in such a way, without the blinding fury that accompanied most of his feelings of late. "Yes my Lord, I'll make an appointment for tomorrow morning."

"Very good, be on your way Lucius," the Dark Lord told him, gesturing lazily even as Dusk swiftly pulled his hood back up, hiding under it like an insecure child – Voldemort had to fight off a small smirk of malicious amusement at the younger male's discomfort.

The blond Pureblood bowed respectfully to the both of them before turning and leaving.

* * *

Alice Elliot sighed as she trotted through the cream coloured halls of St Mungos, barely a year out of Hogwarts and it felt like she was no nearer to her goal of becoming a Mediwitch, she had learnt a lot but that was more how to run a hospital and dealing with paperwork and handling the families of patients, nothing about the patients themselves. It wouldn't have been so bad in all honesty if she hadn't joined the Order of the Phoenix at her boyfriend's, Frank Longbottom's, request. She would have certainly had more time in which to study and research Healing spells rather than sit in a dark stuffy room in the Hog's Head listening to a group of grown men and women argue and insult one another while not doing anything but react to the occasional Death Eater attack.

Death Eater attacks that had not been taking place for the past week, something which was putting Professor Dumbledore on edge, no, no he wasn't _Professor_ Dumbledore anymore, he wasn't her headmaster. He was Albus or Mr Dumbledore, nothing else.

She sighed approaching the front desk and very nearly dropping all her files in shock as she laid eyes on Lucius Malfoy and a highly suspicious figure in a long cloak of grey, it looked like it was made of velvet with the different shades of grey she could see on the fabric. But it was the way Malfoy was leaning over the Welcoming Desk with an unpleasant and rather intimidating sneer on his face while the cloaked figure shifted around uncomfortably in the crowded Lobby that made her anxious. She swallowed and clutched her files tightly, pressing back against the wall.

According to the Order, Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater, a highly ranked one standing in the Inner Circle of the Dark Lord's Generals as his Right Hand Man. She was quite certain her heart was going to burst from being within fifty feet of the man, unlike Frank she was no Gryffindor, she was a Hufflepuff, she had no natural talent in _anything_ and she worked her ass off to get as far as she had. She couldn't change her fear into anger like she had seen Marlene McKinnon do on occasion, she wasn't like Professor McGonagall either, capable of focusing only on the task at hand, there was too much in her head and right now it was all swirling around why Lucius Malfoy was in St Mungos when half the Magical World was certain he had a Dark Mark on his left arm.

And who was the stranger in the cloak behind him?

She watched from behind a curtain of hair and one of the marble pillars as a Mediwizard well known for his surgical spell work was summoned, escorting the two into a private chamber. Watching as Malfoy deferred to the cloak wearing man and holding the door open for him as he scooted inside far too swiftly to be normal, suspicion reared its head. So she waited, pretending to be doing something with the files in her arms as the rest of the Hospital bustled around her, keeping an eye on the private room that the three had gone into.

About an hour later, the door opened and the two exited, the cloaked one bowing gratefully to the Mediwizard who was flushed and smiling a little in embarrassment as Malfoy led the cloaked figure away. She watched, waiting to make sure the two had reached the Floo before darting into the room and cornering the Mediwizard.

"That looked like it went well," she greeted with a sly smile on her face, the Mediwizard, John, laughed as he scratched the side of his nose, his face stained pink. Alice refrained from showing her disapproval, it was a not so well known fact that John was... well, a shirt lifter in one of the more polite terms, but that wasn't the problem she was having right now, it was the fact that he was flushed and giggling like a school girl with a crush over someone with a possible connection to the Dark Lord. "Mr Malfoy looked pleased," she added, watching his reaction, the flush faded a little and he smiled, nodded. So it wasn't Malfoy he had his eye on.

"Yes, I'm glad I was able to help, that poor man, absolutely ghastly what those muggles did to him. Shame, he was quite the looker, I would have liked to know if his voice matched his face," the Mediwizard lamented as he worked his way through a few leafs of parchment. Alice frowned in confusion, sitting down on the near-by stool.

"What do you mean?" she asked, muggles?

John nodded, "The young man under the cloak, poor thing, ran afoul of some muggles who were in the know, they got rather nasty with him, poor boy. Slashed his throat up so he couldn't use incanted magic," he nodded at the look of horror that painted itself across the young woman's face, "No vocal cords to speak of now, he's lucky he can breathe and swallow regular food with the hash job they did. Are you familiar with a muggle bone saw?" he asked, watching as she nodded numbly, every Mediwitch and Wizard in training was required to be at least somewhat familiar with muggle healing methods so they could explain to muggle-born parents the procedures they were using in a fashion they would understand, "Well, they used something almost exactly like that, but blunt and a little rusty. Cut his face up too, apparently he had an old scar on his forehead from a childhood accident, they decided to enlarge it down his eye and cheek. Poor lad."

"But there's nothing we can do with scars, why had they come to you? Had some of his throat not healed correctly?" she asked, no longer caring that he was a potential Dark Supporter, more concerned with his wellbeing now as every Mediwitch and Wizard would.

John shook his head, "Oh no, that wasn't why they came in. The muggles left a little something behind, look, I've never seen anything like it. It inhibits certain kinds of magic," he explained, shifting a small metal pan over to her. It was rather ugly, looking a little like a Plimply with cruelly hooked tentacles instead of fins and legs, a tiny red eye blinked malevolently up at her. It sent a chill of fear through her body and she felt it in her _magic_ as well.

"W-what does it do?" she asked quietly, not getting any closer to the thing, it was making her magic unsettled, it didn't like it, didn't want to be in the room with it.

John nodded, obviously understanding her feelings on the matter, "As far as I can tell, its placed against the spinal cord and sends an electrical charge up to the brain when you use a certain kind of magic. Apparating for one, it would also block transformative magic like the Animagus form or any Metamorphmagus talents you may possess, there's another one as well, it sends out some kind of pulse I imagine so that other muggles could find it, like a Tracking Charm sends out magic pulses," he explained tapping it with his wand distastefully. "I'm not surprised Mr Malfoy requested it removed and destroyed with the most destructive means we had at our disposal. The muggles that created it obviously don't like Wizards. I dread to think what they would have done if they had caught that young man."

Alice's hands were shaking, "W-what did he look like? You're, you're not usually this besotted with just some guy."

John grinned, "Prettiest green eyes I've ever seen Ally. That friend of yours, Lily? The muggle-born in the year below you at Hogwarts, that shade of green but more intense," he explained and Alice nodded. Lily's eyes were very beautiful, it was one of the things that had snagged James Potter's attention according to Frank, the on-going epic saga of Potter vs Evans had been a source of great amusement in the Hufflepuff house, there had been an unofficial betting pool with a slab of Honeydukes Best Chocolate riding on how long it would take before they hooked up. Marlene McKinnon won it even though she had left Hogwarts – she bet that things would have worked themselves out after Severus Snape was out of the picture and James Potter grew up enough to get his head out of his backside.

The other Wizard frowned suddenly, "You feeling alright Alice?" he asked in concern, "You're pale and shaking."

"I'm fine. No, no actually I think I'll go home, I don't..." She gave the small device an edgy look, "I don't... I just need to get my head on," she assured him, her voice trembling slightly.

He nodded, "Alright, I'll tell Healer Romulus where you've gone."

"Thanks John." She needed to tell Frank, now.

* * *

Something had changed in the Slytherins. Sirius knew it, something was different, the atmosphere, before it had been smug, lazy, superior and slimy, now it was charged, there was something harder in their eyes, a determination that hadn't been there for the last six years.

James said he was being stupid, paranoid. But he was so busy sucking face with Lily who finally gave him the time of day to care much beyond his little ginger dish and their up coming N.E.W.T. Exams. Peter was too dense to notice anything beyond his morning toast and the ton of homework McGonagall gave them over the weekend, leaving Remus as the only other member of their raggedy number that noticed the same thing as he did.

Slytherin no longer cared about Gryffindor.

They no longer cared about muggle-born or blood-traitors.

They no longer cared about exams.

They no longer cared about Hogwarts.

Something had changed amongst the Slytherins, their faces were set, their eyes were hard and they were preparing, what for, Sirius didn't know, but it was big and Remus could see it as well. The two canine Marauders watched the House of Serpents with suspicious eyes, Snivellus and Narcissa in particular, Narcissa had been engaged to that ponce Lucius Malfoy – Death Eater if there ever was one – and Snivellus had been getting in right cosy with Evan Rosier and Alaude Avery, not to mention that weed Rabastan Lestrange who graduated last year, straight to Voldemort if the rumours were to be believed.

A storm was brewing, the War was going to change.

* * *

Dumbledore was getting anxious.

Two weeks since there had last been any Death Eater activity, there had been strange movements from known members but nothing violent, no attacks on muggle-born or blood-traitors either, even the Slytherins at Hogwarts had been worryingly discreet and almost well behaved by comparison. It was as if they no longer cared about the Magical World or the War they started there.

Then there was young Alice Elliot's rather worrying report to Mr Longbottom, the strange muggle device that had been removed from a muggle torture victim, a torture victim who was being treated differentially by young Lucius Malfoy. Who was this strange young man with the ruined throat that seemed to be held in such high esteem? He found it suspicious that there was a high-end attack on Stonehenge, a stranger suddenly appearing within the company of a highly ranked Death Eater and their sudden change in tactics.

What was going on? Who was this young man?

What was Tom up to?

* * *

**Well, the muggles had to find their way to magically protected locations **somehow**, why not implant tracking devices that simultaneously prevented teleportation or changing your face/form to better hide yourself. Sounds like a good idea to me. Preventing Apparation in regards to Harry is even more important for them, you'll find out soon enough though, let's just say...**

**If Harry wasn't handicapped, then there was no way the Dark Lord could even consider the fact he won that Duel. Voldemort isn't as magically powerful as he was in the future and he doesn't have much in the way of Duelling experience in comparison to Harry. (Harry's been fighting people stronger and better than him his whole life. Tom just overpowered and killed them in as short amount of time as possible. He hasn't got the same experience as Harry or Dumbledore because of this.)**

**Anyway, hoping you're all enjoying this so far. If you have any ideas for muggle attacks let me know. A little FYI on the ages in this Chapter below.**

_Dusk:_ 27 years old

_Voldemort:_ 51 years old

_Lucius Malfoy:_ 23 years old

_Rabastan Lestrange:_ 18-years-old

_Rudolphus Lestrange:_ 25 years old

_Bellatrix Black:_ 26 years old (Yeah, she's born in 1951 according to the Lexicon)

_Andromeda Black:_ 22 years old (Don't actually know but that's what I'm saying she is)

_Narcissa Black, Severus Snape, Evan Rosier, Alaude Avery, Sirius Black, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, Lily Evans:_ 17-years old (Hogwarts Final Year)

_Alice Elliot:_ 18 years old

_Frank Longbottom:_ 21 years old

_Gideon and Fabian Prewitt:_ 28 years old

_Molly Weasley:_ 27 years old

_Bill Weasley:_ 6 years old


	4. Chapter 3

_This fic will be __very__ dark. I warn you now, there will be mass genocide, torture, some graphic sexual situations (there will be warnings – though I am loath to put them in as it ruins the flow of writing), concepts borrowed from other areas such as comics, manga and games like spells, combat scenes and techniques, tools and the like. I will endeavour to give each chapter the correct declarations at the bottom of the page._

**Pairing:** Voldemort/Harry

**Summary:** He didn't know why or what he was doing, but he was trying to save her, he was just doing it the wrong way. Harry Potter survived the end of the world and went back to show him the way. Dumbledore could go hang. Even if all the magical world were to hate and revile him, he would help Voldemort destroy Muggle-kind, before they destroyed Mother Gaia, again.

**Eden**

CHAPTER THREE

She was to be married within the year, the Witch stared at her mirror, her dove grey eyes blank as she contemplated her future. She had been looking forward to this day since her eighteenth birthday when her engagement was announced, since her seventeenth when she was informed of the negotiations between her father and her soon-to-be Husband. She had been looking _forward_ to that day when she would don her Wedding Robes, when she would have her hands tied by the Druid, when she would finally share a bed with her husband, when she would finally become a Wife, a Woman and hopefully, a Mother.

But now...

Now it was all falling down around her ankles and she could not bring herself to care about the last eight years she had spent pining after a man she would now be forced to share the rest of her life with while every second of every day and night, she would yearn for another. For him.

Bellatrix Black sighed quietly as she reached for her obsidian comb, slowly running it through her hair as if the simple every day action was a chore her heart couldn't be bothered with, something that was so useless, so pointless now that she thought about it. What need to look beautiful did she have? She was arranged to be married to some brute who cared nothing for her hair and everything for what lay between her legs and for the money he would gain from her father's generosity. He would never look at her, she was a Taken Woman, and he... he was so... She sighed again, setting the comb down as she stared at the reflected corner of her room, unable to muster the effort to finish grooming herself, or to even burst into the tears she could feel clogging her throat.

She was twenty six, it had been a stipulation of her Soon-to-be Husband's family to not allow a wedding until ten years after her Coming of Age, just to ensure that the famous Black Madness would not take hold of her, to make sure that she would be desperate for her husband, to ensure her loyalty to the Dark Magics and to her future husband. If she could wait ten years, then she would be an appropriate wife of the Lestrange Family.

But now, she did not _want_ to be a wife of the Lestrange Family. Or _Any_ family.

She wanted him.

She wanted her Light.

Yes, before now she had longed for the Dark Lord's attention, his affection, his magic, so potent and heady, so thick and commanding, it thrilled her in places only her touch had ever quested to in the darkness of her bedroom at night, her heart fluttering in her chest like a Snidget's wing beats. But for all his power, for all his command, he was too strong, too much, too glorious to ever lower himself in her eyes. She could not wish to be his equal, to stand at his side and lie in his bed, nor bare her deepest self to him, he was her Lord, her Master, but he was not her Husband and she could not see him as such.

But then he came. Her Light.

The wolf in sheep's clothing, the shy man who hid from the world, the one who came back from the end of the world to save their future, the future of magic. Her Light who could not speak, scarred and scared as he was, hiding behind a cowl of silver velvet, strong but vulnerable, she sighed in longing, his magic was soothing, fluid and light, it drew her out, calmed her fury, wrapped her in warmth. She felt safe in a way her Soon-to-be Husband had never inspired within her, and she knew, she _knew_ that he would protect her, protect their children. That he was _special_, he was the Light in the Darkness.

Her Light.

_**000**_

This was getting to be an entirely too common an occurrence, Voldemort decided as he glowered at the Gryffindor in his kitchen. Half past eight in the morning, he came downstairs expecting to make himself some toast, a nice fry up, a cup of tea and then look through the morning papers, a nice way to start the day before he got down to the nitty-gritty.

What he finds is his breakfast already made and set out, currently under warming and cooling charms respectively, the papers set out beside his plate and Dusk at the otherside of the table with several leafs of Parchment, a quill and an ink-well making lists and notes at a furious pace, a mug of hot chocolate that smelt suspiciously minty at his elbow and obviously cold judging by the skin on top of it.

He frowned at the mute, "Did you even leave last night?" he demanded, taking a seat and determinedly trying not to feel self-conscious in his sleep robes.

A flick of a wand caused the blank sheet of Parchment at his elbow to fill with words and a moment later slide over to the Dark Lord. _No, not really. I had to do some research and make up some Potions and transcribe some Ritual Spells. You need to re-merge with your Horcrux._

Voldemort bristled like a furious cat, his magic crackling through the air, "Excuse me?" he hissed darkly, thoroughly displeased with the other male attempting to dictate his actions, to _order him around like some imbecile!_

Dusk looked up with golden eyes, taking the Dark Lord back a bit, he had been expecting green.

_The simple fact of the matter is, my magic and proximity are the only things keeping you sane and level headed right now. I cannot be out of your presence for a prolonged period of time without your mental capabilities degrading back to those of a salivating megalomaniac. You need to re-merge with your Horcruxes, they will provide you with emotional equilibrium, mental stability, they will return a good chunk of your magic that was stunted due to your breaking your soul into pieces before reaching your full Maturation and it will allow you to use your full repertoire of magic without any hindrance. You have noticed the added difficulties with casting Light orientated Magic since you split your soul I take it?_

He slammed his hands down on the table so hard that it caused his glass of chilled orange juice to topple over, nearly ruining the pile of parchments Dusk had been writing on had the Gryffindor not swiftly swept them up off the table, not once removing his eyes from the Dark Lord's seething garnet ones. "I do _not_ take order from you," the Slytherin snarled maliciously, "No matter what we may have been to each other in the future." That was the only explanation he could come up with, he must have been involved with Dusk in the future, why else would the Gryffindor believe he had the right to give _him_, the Dark Lord Voldemort, any kind of order?

There was a moment of silence before Dusk closed his eyes slowly and got to his feet, silently gathering up all the papers he had been writing on under the Dark Lord's narrowed and suspicious glare. He sighed through his nose and jabbed the paper with his wand once again.

_Contact me when you're ready to behave like an Adult._

Fury the likes of which the Dark Lord had never felt burned through his body with a vengeance as he turned to curse the Gryffindor only to find him... not there. Garnet eyes widened and then narrowed as he looked around the kitchen furiously, unable to spot the young man in question before roaring with anger and throwing the table, breakfast and all, against the wall and storming out.

_**000**_

Typical, just fucking _typical!_

Harry swore in his mind as he stormed through Diagon Alley, making his way to Gringotts, he needed to see the Goblins about weapons, making more of his specially enchanted Masks and crashing the Muggle Economy. There would be a _lot_ of prophet in it for them, especially when taking into account all the Gold, silver, platinum, the _diamonds_ and other gemstones and such that they used in the most mundane of things. Copper was great for channelling Electricity, but it was also great for channelling Magic, coupled with Goblin enchantments and you had something that most Purebloods would sell their first borns to get hold of.

The greedy little bastards weren't about to pass it up, he was quite certain of that, especially if he told them he could not only get hold of Gryffindor's Sword but also a Goblin Made Tiara currently in the ownership of one Muriel Weasley, foul old woman. That would get him in rather nicely with the Nasties and if that failed to cheer them up, he could always sell them some infant Basilisks and ask Voldemort to give them some marching orders to protect various Vaults unless a Goblin was there.

Then he remembered the hissy fit the man had earlier in the day and scratched that idea out. Harry was _not_ going to deal with a temper tantrum more befitting Teddy at four years old than a Dark Lord in his fifties, Voldemort could just stew on what was said until he was ready to behave like an adult and talk it over. He had Harry's contact details, or more specifically, the Galleon that would arrange for them to meet and Harry was quite capable of slipping through his Wards to leave a note telling him _where_ they could meet in the future.

Either way, until the man learned to behave, Harry was going to leave him be and get on with his plan.

"Excuse me, sir?" a male baritone called from just behind him, Harry paused and glanced over his shoulder, having to stop himself from doing a double take at the younger, more serious and definitely sane version of Frank Longbottom in front of him, clad in the crimson robes of the Ministry of Magic's Auror Division, the pins on his collar denoting him to be fairly high ranked. Possibly the equivalent of a Sergeant in the Muggle Police Force.

He gave the man a polite nod, wishing, not for the first time, that he could use his vocal cords for something more than gurgling and hissing – the most annoying thing about it was that Parselmouth _did_ in fact come from the vocal cords, from the whole throat, he couldn't speak it without his cords.

"I am Auror Longbottom," he introduced himself, pausing briefly and clearly expecting Harry to return the favour, however, the cloaked male remained silent and only arched an eyebrow at the brief tightening of the man's features. So much like Neville when he tried not to correct someone in Herbology, or tried not to tell Harry off for being so clueless about Ginny's feelings, or when he tried not to hit Ron for being so rude to Hermione. Neville looked a lot like his mother but his habits and quirks, Harry could see Frank in them. "Word has it that you ran afoul of some Muggles in the know," he continued as if the pause had never existed and Harry had to refrain from rolling his eyes, Dumbledore was attempting to meddle again. "Would you care to file a statement regarding the situation? I ask because its important that we collect such information in order to protect the public from similar attacks."

Harry sighed through his nose, today seemed to be going from generally bad to a total clusterfuck.

File a statement, protect the public, yeah right. Someone had obviously seen him in St Mungos with Malfoy and passed the word onto Dumbledore and his Turkeys, now he had Aurors trying to get him out of a public location and into the Ministry of Magic, or some other obscure location that the Gryffindor would probably bet money on being Order controlled. Yeah, no thank you, he had no desire to end up in Azkaban or under Moody's tender love and care, besides, the less contact he had with Albus and the Marauders, the better the whole operation against the Muggles would go. Slowly, so as not to alarm the Auror, he removed his wand and conjured his customary ribbons, navy blue this time so they would stand out amidst the bright chaos of the Alley.

"_Clearly the staff at St Mungos need to rethink their privacy policy_," he wrote rather scathingly, ignoring the familiar tightening of Frank's features, "_There is no need for any kind of statement, the situation has been handled and the culprits dealt with by the appropriate authorities. Given how this incident did not happen in Europe, it is out of your jurisdiction, Auror Longbottom. Though I do thank you for your concern. If you will please excuse me, I have some business in Gringotts._"

As he read, Frank's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the '_dealt with by the appropriate authorities_' statement, his obviously embittered mind drawing the parallels with Voldemort and his Death Eaters and deciding that by '_Dealt with_' meant '_killed for it_'.

A split second later, Harry was having to crush his reflexive cursing of the Auror when a vice like hand latched onto him and wrenched the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing an unblemished left forearm. No Dark Mark to be seen. Harry jerked his arm free and took a step back, rubbing at his arm, ignoring the whispers that were breaking out through the crowd, the ribbons rearranging themselves without prompting.

"_Were you expecting a Dark Mark? The Death Eaters aren't your problem anymore, Auror, or have you not noticed they have their attention on an even bigger threat to our society than muggle-borns._" And with that, Harry turned away and stalked into the Bank. He had revealed entirely too much of his hand but, _goddamnit_, he was pissed off!

He conjured more ribbons when he reached a Goblin Teller, "_I need to speak with one of the Managers regarding a business proposition that will benefit the Goblin Nations as much as our own_."

_**000**_

It had been two weeks since Dusk had last been to the Citadel.

His activities could be seen and felt throughout the Death Eaters as they gathered information, the Goblins were suddenly a lot more active than usual, the Ministry was getting panicked over the chances of another Goblin Rebellion, Dumbledore was becoming increasingly vocal regarding their so called evil activities and attempting to put more effort into recruiting. The Daily Prophet seemed to be having some interesting articles that weren't Ministry endorsed and most certainly not Dumbledore endorsed.

In fact, the articles seemed to be airing the Headmaster's dirty past to all and sundry. Ariana, Aberforth, _Grindelwald_, the obsession with the Hallows, the subtle encouragement of the House Rivalries between Gryffindor and Slytherin, the Chamber of Secrets incident back in the fifties and his never attempting to help the Half Giant who was accused and thus expelled.

Then there were the articles regarding muggles themselves, research papers written by a Harrison Creevey regarding the History of Magic itself, the effects of muggle technology on magic and vice versa, exploration into various muggle technologies... It got the majority of people thinking of how dangerous muggles were becoming.

So far there had only been three articles, it wasn't leaning one way or another when explaining the facts of muggle technology and influence, it just explained them as factually and detailed as possible. Dumbledore and his faction were attempting to get the articles shut down but Lucius was using his influence at the Ministry to keep them in print, he didn't have to try very hard though, the Daily Prophet was seeing a forty-percent increase in prophet whenever those articles came out. The fact that people in the Ministry's Department of Mysteries had decided to try and disprove these articles, only to end up proving them, added icing to the cake.

The only downside to all this activity was that Dusk had not returned to the Citadel, and Voldemort could feel his tenuous grasp on himself beginning to fray.

His temper was more volatile, his magic difficult to control, he slept less, ate less, drank less, he could see his physical appearance beginning to deteriorate again, skin becoming waxy and pale, eyes bruising and becoming maniacal, he was losing weight and paranoia was beginning to set in. He almost _Crucio_'d Barty Crouch Jr into insanity, half convinced the young man was spying on behalf of his father for the Ministry of Magic.

He knew he was losing it.

But he didn't want to admit it. He didn't want Dusk to be right. He didn't want to deal with that and he _wouldn't!_

He wouldn't!

He wou- the Dark Lord hissed unhappily as the wine glass between his fingers shattered, sending shards penetrating deep into his flesh. Bringing clarity in the way that only pain could to a mind in turmoil.

Dusk _was_ right.

He sighed and spelled the glass shards out of his skin before reaching for the Galleon, he needed to do this before healing himself up, while he was still lucid, while the pain gave him enough clarity to do what he had to do. He sighed as he set the time for immediately, he needed the man to balance him, but at the same time, he was... hesitant.

They had been something more than just a balancing act in the future, he had never... he had never been involved with someone in that sense before. Sex was hardly unknown territory for him, he used his body just as readily as his magic and his soul in exchange for power, for immortality, he knew how to work his looks _and_ other pieces of anatomy in order to get what he wanted. But relationships, that was... foreign. Unknown. And he did not relish any attempts at exploration. Relationships were for Gryffindors. Arrangements were Slytherin, arrangements and alliances.

But there was the simple fact that Dusk was a Gryffindor and he was a Slytherin.

Plus, Voldemort had no feelings for him in that sense. Why was he feeling so obligated to attempt to live up to something that had not yet happened and he wasn't sure he wanted to happen at all? Because he knew there must have been something special about the younger man that would prompt his older self to engage in such acts of frivolity? Because he had finally found someone he could deem an equal? Or was it simple curiosity? The desire to find out, or the resignation that Fate was going to have her way?

He jolted, almost reaching for his wand as a cool hand brushed his bloody skin, the familiar wash of Dusk's magic smoothing down the ruffled and uncomfortable edges of his own maelstrom of power, causing tense muscles he hadn't even known were wound tight to relax due to simple proximity.

There were no words spoken, for once Voldemort was grateful of the silence as the Holly Wand flicked over his hand, a surprisingly powerful Healing Charm knitting his flesh back together without the slightest hint of a scar, a few more shards of glass tinkling to the floor only to be vanished just as quickly. Dusk looked at him with those green eyes, his natural green eyes, under a spray of icy white hair, they weren't accusing nor were they expectant, they just looked, studied, before the younger man sighed softly and pulled the Dark Lord to his feet, steering him up the stairs towards his bed-chambers.

An uncomfortable jolt in his stomach made him tense up briefly before the younger man pushed him through the door and conjured a set of golden ribbons, "_I will see you after you have slept, meet me in the kitchen when you've woken up and had a shower. You smell like a Troll_."

And just like that, as if their _'disagreement_' had never happened, Dusk made his way down to the kitchen to get something to eat while the Dark Lord collapsed in bed.

_**000**_

Harry sighed as he squeezed his wrist, watching dispassionately as his opened flesh dribbled out in a steady stream of blood, filling the small quartz crystal jar third of the way full with his blood. He ignored the dull pain and the beginnings of light headed giddiness that blood-loss gave him before he healed the open wound and reached for the next ingredient for the Ritual, ink made from the remains of an Ashwinder. That would be mixed together 1:1:2 with the final ingredient being a combination of Voldemort's blood and _willingly given_ Unicorn blood.

Ironically enough, the Unicorn blood was the easiest to obtain.

It wasn't _easy_, it involved Apparating to Hogsmeade, staying out of sight, getting into the Forbidden Forest, tracking down a Blessing of Unicorns and then getting them to _not_ kill him and remain still long enough for him to talk them out of three pints of the stuff. Surprisingly, it wasn't as difficult as it sounded. The unicorns were surprisingly docile toward him once they got a taste of his magic, and sitting down and having a brief mind to mind conversation with the Matriarch of the Blessing was a pleasant event. She and her two daughters willingly donated their blood to his cause, knowing that he would be keeping the majority of their blood as a '_just in case_', they understood his need to maximise their resources in the face of his self-appointed mission. They would not fight, but willingly donated hair, blood and saliva would not be too small of a price to pay in order to regain the world they had lost, the sanity of their Planet and the freedom to run free where ever they wished – no longer forced to graze in such dark places as the Forbidden Forest.

Ashwinder ink was a Level four restricted Potion Ingredient, if he was caught carrying it without a Potions Mastery then it was a minimum of ten years in Azkaban under Medium Security measures. He probably wouldn't survive three days with his current mental state and he couldn't leave Voldemort that long until _after_ the Ritual or he would just go topsy-turvey again and they would be stuck with the same Future he was trying to _change!_

It took a lot of haggling and threats in one of the Black Markets of Knockturn Alley and then later in the Goblin Markets to get the volume and quality he needed for the ink. He found a few other useful things, such as a small tribe of domesticated Clabberts, they would be highly useful during the more small scale strikes, their magic could sense danger even if they didn't know what the danger was or even if it wasn't yet dangerous. They would just know that It would become dangerous in short order. When Mine-fields began to be set up in the wastes of the Planet, what few Clabberts who could be rescued became invaluable for warning survivors about those land-mines, and about muggles who were lying about their good will, trying to trap them. Or kill them.

Still, he had all the ingredients necessary and he had been researching the Runic sequences thoroughly, all he needed now was Voldemort and all the Horcruxes.

Setting the white jar of the blood and ink mixture into the oven to keep it warm, he moved to go and make some food for himself and the perpetually melodramatic Dark Lord, if hadn't been so used to playing House Elf for ungrateful jerks – re: the Dursleys – he would have probably been annoyed or resentful about it. As it was, he didn't give the situation much thought, it would just be easier to make a large batch of food than listen to the Dark Lord clatter around and some up with substandard grub. He may not like other people cooking for him, but he was hardly very good at it so he had no room to complain when someone decided to do it better than him.

He ate alone and then went back to preparing for the future, specifically, writing his next column as Harrison Creevey in honour of the two little muggleborn who followed him around at Hogwarts. Little muggleborns who would now likely never be born with what he had planned to take place in the next five years.

This article would explain combustion engines, oil and just what natural resources the muggles were dragging up from the earth and then burning, couple that with a little history – such as how they used to power trains with the mummified corpses of Egyptain wizards and make paper bags out of them and other such horrors. And then lead into other areas, such as muggle paper being made of trees and such, Chinese bone china, the sewage dumping into the ocean and toxic waste dumps as well. He would also have to explain just how this was bad from a magical point of view for the muggleborn's benefits but also explain how its beneficial from a muggle's point of view for the purebloods. Make it look as though he wasn't taking any side at all but was just presenting the facts as thoroughly and unbiased as possible.

This was the first step in his plan, stirring controversy, anti-muggle sentiments would be easy to stir amidst the older generations of Magicals in the Know. Muggleborns would be more difficult but as he presented his findings on how muggles were destroying the world, pin-pointing exactly _who_ was trying to kill them all would be difficult as there would be a lot of chaos in the Magical world with vigilantes. He would have to hit hard and fast with his findings of muggles being unnatural to the planet and how Magic gave only a select few her gifts because they were the only worth while ones of the lot. Hopefully that would end anti-muggleborn sentiments before they got any further.

Recruitment would be the next issue, getting folk from all over the world to join in and co-ordinate with them for simultaneous strikes that the muggles couldn't defend from before heading in full force to get rid of politicians and military all at once, after that, they could move in country by country to remove the last of the muggles who would be running around like chickens with their heads off.

It would be difficult. Harry guessed they had about two, maybe three years before the muggles got themselves organised _properly_ and began to strike back, began to develop weapons like the ones he was familiar with in the future, realised that Kevlar could easily block most curses, specifically the Avada Kedavra. The trick would be to keep them not only demoralised but also prevent reproduction and technology from working, for that, he had every intention of recruiting Rookwood and whatever Spell Crafters, Potions Masters and Mediwizards he could into developing some kind of sterilization spell that would target only muggles. One that could be used by House Elves.

A wicked smirk curled on Harry's face as he continued writing his article, the little eager to please bastards would be his primary attack force, he was thinking of abducting Dobby from the Malfoys' as he was still there, only a young Elfling but already showing his former personality traits. Those annoying, yet strangely endearing ones.

Once he had the Sterilization Spell, taught it to the House Elves, he would then arm them with the masks, send one to every country and have them abduct the muggleborn children, memory charm the parents to tell them that it was a Miscarriage, cast wide-spread Sterilization Spells and go through the whole country until it was time to launch the first of their attacks.

While he would love to have the muggles wiped out within the next five years, he wasn't stupid, this was going to be a HUGE under taking, the sooner he had the whole population sterile and started taking them all out, the easier their end would come. But they were going to put up one hell of a fight before hand, but this time... this time Magic was going to win.

He sipped his tea, and thought of the day when he could finally rest.

_**000**_

**Concept Props seen/hinted during this chapter!**

**Sterilization Spells: **Suggested by Barrel of Monkies in Chapter 1

**Kevlar blocking Avada Kedavra:** Suggested by Ni Lemur in Chapter 1

**Oil, coal, chalk and what it means to Wizarding Folk:** Suggested by the Mad Mad Reviewer in Chapter 3

**Unification of the Magical World:** Suggested by noelnoel2 in Chapter 3

_**000**_

**Hope you guys liked this Chapter. I had a fair bit of fun with it, as difficult as it was to grind through. Voldemort and Dusk are both very interesting and abrasive characters that their interactions are rather difficult to get wholly in character. I hope I made this chapter work, showing the clash between them and the first steps towards whatever may be between them in the future.**

**There is nothing compelling either of them to be together, the Compatible Magic merely provides a balance that Voldemort currently desperately needs in order to remain sane, he's broken off over half of his soul and poisoned his magic. Dusk's presence soothes it. His magic is silver for a reason ;D Silver is often used in bandages and such because it has remarkable healing properties – even in real life. I think a point is made in the books that the majority of medicinal potions are made in silver cauldrons for this purpose. Though that might be fannon, I can't remember.**

**Bellatrix has a crush on Dusk. Frank is suspicious and Gryffindorish when it comes to potential Death Eaters. Dumbledore is getting pushy and erratic because control is beginning to slip between his fingers. In all, its looking to be an interesting clusterfuck when the Death Eaters finally make their move.**

If anyone has any ideas they would like to contribute, they would all be thoroughly welcomed. Really.


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